The ground vibrated under Fallon's cheek. A low, rhythmic thumping that slowly pulled her back from the darkness.

She groaned, her head pounding like a drum. Her eyelids felt heavy, glued shut with exhaustion. She forced them open, blinking against the dim light filtering through the trees.

She lifted a heavy hand, wiping at the sticky wetness on her cheek. It came away dark red. Dried blood.

The smell hit her next. Raw, metallic, overwhelming. Her stomach heaved, and she gagged, turning her head to the side.

She pushed herself up on shaky arms, her muscles screaming in protest. As her vision cleared, she saw it. The beast. The monster that had tried to kill her.

It was lying a few feet away, completely still. Its neck was twisted at a grotesque angle, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. Dead.

Fallon sucked in a breath, her heart starting to race again. She had almost been that thing's dinner.

Then she heard it. A slow, heavy dragging sound. Scrape. Hiss. Scrape.

It came from behind the beast's corpse. The sound of scales rubbing against stone.

Fallon held her breath, her eyes locked on the shadows.

A head emerged. A snake head the size of an SUV's front end. It was covered in scales that shimmered with a cold, metallic sheen-silver mixed with black. They looked like armor plating.

A strangled gasp escaped Fallon's throat. Her fingers dug into the mud, her nails breaking.

The snake's eyes locked onto her. They were terrifying. One was a cold, icy silver. The other was a dark, blood red. Both had vertical slits for pupils, staring at her with an unblinking intensity.

A forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. Tasting her.

Fallon's mind flashed to nature documentaries. Snakes did that to smell their prey. To see if it was worth eating.

She tried to move back, to put more distance between them, but her back was already against the tree. There was nowhere to go.

The giant serpent moved. Its massive body slithered around the beast's corpse, heading straight for her. The sound of its scales crushing the underbrush was deafening. Bushes snapped like twigs under its weight.

Fallon squeezed her eyes shut. Wake up. Wake up. This is just a nightmare.

Then, something cold touched her ankle.

Her eyes flew open. The snake's tail was wrapped around her leg. The scales were surprisingly smooth, but the grip was unbreakable. It was like being trapped in a vice made of ice.

The snake's head lowered, stopping inches from her face. She could see every individual scale, the way they overlapped perfectly. Its breath washed over her, smelling of raw meat and something ancient.

Those mismatched eyes stared into hers. In them, Fallon saw her own terrified face reflected back.

The snake tilted its head slightly. The motion was almost... curious. Like a dog seeing a new toy.

But Fallon didn't feel like a toy. She felt like a mouse trapped under the gaze of a hawk. The cold reality of her situation crashed over her. She was going to be eaten. This thing was just playing with its food.

Her mind snapped. The fear was too much. It was a physical pressure crushing her chest.

She opened her mouth to scream, to beg, but no sound came out. Her throat was closed tight. Black spots danced at the edge of her vision.

She didn't faint, but her body went completely limp, paralyzed by a primal shock. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing shallow and erratic. She was trapped in a waking nightmare, her muscles locked tight in a state of sheer, unadulterated terror as she felt the massive creature looming over her, waiting for the fatal strike.

The world was bouncing. A sickening, swaying motion that made Fallon's stomach roll.

Cold wind whipped past her face, howling in her ears. The paralysis that had gripped her body slowly began to recede, replaced by a dizzying nausea. For a moment, she thought she was on a rescue helicopter, dangling from a winch over the jungle.

She forced her eyes open wider. The trees below her were a blur of green, rushing past at an impossible speed. She was moving, but her legs weren't touching the ground.

She looked down. A scream died in her throat.

She was wrapped in a coil of silver-black scales, suspended hundreds of feet in the air. The giant snake was climbing a sheer cliff face, moving as easily as if it were walking on flat ground.

Fallon bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She couldn't scream. If she screamed, it might drop her. Or worse, eat her. She squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed fistfuls of her expensive jacket, holding on for dear life.

Suddenly, the movement stopped. The snake slithered into a large, dark opening in the cliff face.

The air inside was different. It smelled like dry dirt and something faintly herbal. Not the rotting stench of the beast from before.

The coil around her loosened. The snake's tail gently deposited her onto a pile of soft dry grass and animal skins.

Fallon lay there, frozen. She didn't dare breathe. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, listening.

She heard the sound of scales sliding over stone, moving deeper into the cave. The sound faded, swallowed by the darkness.

Only when the silence stretched out did she finally crack one eye open.

The cave was huge. The ceiling was high above her, dotted with strange, glowing rocks that cast a faint, bluish light over the space.

She sat up slowly, her muscles protesting. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed things that didn't make sense.

In the corner, there were stacks of flat stones, clearly cut and shaped. Next to them were large bones, cleaned and polished. These weren't just random debris. They were tools. Or furniture.

She reached down, touching the animal skin she was sitting on. It was rough, but the edges were neat. They had been sewn together. With something like sinew.

Her rational mind reeled. Animals didn't sew. They didn't stack stones. They didn't use glowing rocks for lamps.

She patted her pockets frantically. Phone? Gone. Pepper spray? Gone. Everything was gone.

She hugged her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms. This wasn't right. This wasn't Earth. Or if it was, it was a part of it no one had ever seen.

The snake had looked at her with those strange, intelligent eyes. And this cave... this was a home. A home built by something smart.

A cold dread settled in her stomach.

Suddenly, a sound echoed from the dark tunnel at the back of the cave. Footsteps. Not the sliding hiss of scales, but the heavy thud of two feet hitting the ground.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Fallon went rigid. She grabbed the nearest object-a sharp-edged stone the size of her fist-and clutched it to her chest like a weapon.

The footsteps grew louder. The air in the cave seemed to thicken, a heavy pressure pushing down on her shoulders.

A tall shadow appeared in the tunnel entrance, blocking out the faint light behind it.

Fallon stared at the shadow, her knuckles white around the stone. Sweat dripped down her temple.

The figure stepped into the light.

It was a man. A very tall, very muscular man. He had to be at least six foot two, with broad shoulders and arms that looked like they were carved from stone. He wore nothing on his upper body, showing off tanned skin marked with faint scars. Around his waist was a rough black animal skin.

But what made Fallon's brain completely stall out were his eyes.

One was silver. One was red. Vertical slits.

Just like the snake.

The stone slipped from her numb fingers, landing on the animal skin with a soft thud.

The man glanced at the stone, then at her. His face was completely blank. He didn't look angry or surprised. He just looked.

He walked past her toward the center of the cave. There was a circle of stones surrounding a pile of ash and dry grass. He picked up two dark rocks and struck them together.

Sparks flew. The dry grass caught fire. Within seconds, a warm blaze was crackling, illuminating the man's sharp jawline and long, silver-gray hair that fell past his shoulders.

He reached for a slab of meat sitting on a flat stone nearby. It was huge, raw, and freshly killed. He skewered it on a thick wooden stick and propped it over the fire.

The smell of roasting meat filled the cave. It smelled like... just meat. No salt. No pepper. No garlic. Just burning hair and raw flesh.

The man turned the spit. Then, without looking at her, he spoke. His voice was deep and rough, like gravel scraping against wood. He had a strange accent she couldn't place.

"You have no mate's scent."

Fallon blinked. Her jaw dropped. "You speak English?"

The man frowned slightly, his brow creasing. "It is the common tongue of the continent."

The words didn't compute. Continent? Common tongue? Was this some kind of elaborate prank? A hidden camera show? No, the monster in the forest was too real. The beast. The impossibly huge snake. Her mind reeled with the insane implications, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead as she tried to rationalize the sheer absurdity of the situation.

She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. "That... that big snake. Where is it? What did you do to it?"

The man's hand paused on the spit. For a split second, something flickered in those mismatched eyes. Guilt? Fear? It was gone too fast to tell.

"This is my territory," he said, his voice turning cold. "There is no snake here."

Fallon stared at him. He was lying. She knew he was lying. Those eyes were a dead giveaway. But why?

He pulled the meat from the fire. It was barely cooked. The outside was charred black, but the inside was still red and bloody. Juices dripped from it, hissing when they hit the hot stones.

He held the dripping slab out to her. The smell hit her first—a nauseating mix of burnt hair, charred flesh, and raw, coppery blood that stung her nostrils. "Eat."

Fallon's stomach turned. The overwhelming stench made her gag. She waved her hands frantically, shaking her head. "No. No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

The man's eyes narrowed. The coldness in them intensified. He thought she was rejecting his offering. His food.

"Eat," he repeated, his voice harder. "Or you will die. The wind season comes."

"I don't care about the wind season!" Fallon snapped, her fear turning into frustrated anger. "I lost my phone! I can't call an Uber! I can't call the cops! And you want me to eat that? It's bleeding!"

The man looked confused. He didn't understand 'Uber' or 'cops'. But he understood her tone. He heard the break in her voice.

He pulled the meat back, staring at her. She was crying. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, cutting tracks through the dirt and dried blood on her face.

He sat there, frozen. He looked like a statue, unsure of what to do. He reached out a hand toward her face, his fingers rough and stained with soot. But he stopped an inch away, staring at his own hand like it was a dangerous weapon, and slowly pulled it back.

Fallon buried her face in her knees and sobbed. She was stuck in a cave with a snake-eyed man who wanted to feed her raw meat, in a world where English was the 'common tongue' but cell phones didn't exist.

The man sat silently by the fire, watching her cry. He looked like a guardian angel carved from stone, if that angel had the eyes of a demon and absolutely no idea how to comfort a crying woman.

As her sobs finally began to quiet into shuddering breaths, Fallon lifted her head just enough to peer over her knees. The fire had burned lower, casting long shadows across the cave walls. The man hadn't moved.

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, a fresh wave of exhaustion rolling over her. But beneath the exhaustion, a tiny spark of something else flickered—survival instinct, maybe. Or just stubbornness.

"What's your name?" she asked, her voice hoarse and cracked.

The man's head tilted slightly, as if the question surprised him.

"You speak. You feed me. You have a name, don't you?" Fallon pressed, her tone edging toward the demanding register she'd perfected on difficult baristas back in LA.

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "My kind name is long. Hard for warm-bloods to say." He paused, the firelight dancing in his mismatched eyes. "I chose another. For trade. For when I must speak to others."

"And?"

"Justice." The word came out heavy, deliberate, as if he'd carried it alone for a very long time. "I am called Justice."

Fallon let the name settle in her mind. It was strange—old-fashioned, almost Biblical. But somehow it fit the grave, watchful man sitting across from her.

"Justice," she repeated quietly. "Okay."

She didn't offer her own name. Not yet. Some instinct told her to hold onto that small piece of herself a little longer.